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  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

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        Wednesday, April 26, 2006

    Fucking Mechanics...

    Why is it so difficult to find a competent mechanic who is not a crook? People (rightly) talk shit about lawyers, but no lawyer has ever left anyone stranded by the roadside because he forgot to put their drain-plug back in when he changed their oil.

    Fuckers.

    I go out to fetch beers, to do the yard today, and there appears to be about $50 worth of oil under a car that just got an oil and filter change.
    The wife likes the place we take our car, because it has a Jesus-Fish symbol on the sign. I like them because they let us make payments when they work on our piece of shit car. They took one look at the pitiful thing, and knew they had a goldmine.

    Speaking of beers, the neighborhood 7-11 just got bought by a bunch of ragheads. The bad news is: a bunch of ragheads in the neighborhood. The good news is, no more white trash meth-heads working in the place, and leaving it so filthy you don't want to touch anything.

    I walked into the store with Nat and John in tow, and stopped and stared, amazed. It looked like a model home looks when you go in. The look that screams nobody really lives there. They are selling fresh fruit and vegetables! So perfect they look fake! The candy bars are arranged neatly, and one of the rags was going around with a feather duster.

    They get their donuts brought in from Crispy Creme! From Portland, two hours away! Nat and John each got to pick out a donut. Thanks donutters ('donutters', donaters, get it? Ha!). That P.O. Box thingy is pretty cool. And thanks again and again, LL. You really are the wind beneath my cheeks.

    Here's a bit of me and LL's email correspondence today after she tells me I got a sealed letter.
    I tell her:

    Whap on it a couple times. If it doesn't blow your hand off, or puff out white powder, go ahead and forward it to me.

    She responds:

    I'm so glad you are worried for my safety, Bane. And I'm not worried about expenses. It's really no biggie. Now if there is some 20 pound package that needs to be mailed, I'll reevaluate.

    I respond:

    20 lbs is a lotta bomb. You keep it.

    Bane is nothing, if not a compassionate conservative.

    Speaking of Omar The Bomb-Maker, those ragheads followed me all around the store. It was subtle, but they were keeping a weather eye on me. Maybe it was my official ratty 'work in the yard' white trash ensemble, or the hooptie I'd pulled up in, but they gave me the fish-eye the whole time.

    Sigh. Fukkem.

    Well, it's out to mow more grass, so I don't keep misplacing kids in there. And I'm in a quandry. My abutting neighbors enormous half acre of a back yard is flooded in one corner, and I fear a mosquito infestation, and death by West Nile.
    Yet, what if I report him to Mosquito Abatement, and the government declares his yard a protected wetland, and I can't keep sneaking over there and spraying Raid in it without risking a felony?

    Decisions, decisions. The beer helps.

    I smacked a skeeter on the front door the other evening the size of a damn bat. It had a damn fore-nozzle big enough to air refuel an F-14. I was going to leave her there as a warning to the others, but people kept mistaking her for a door-knocker.

    Well, I've procrastinated on the yard long enough, and the beer is percolating nicely in my massive forebrain, so shoot if you must, this old, grey head, but I am off to slave over a hot mower.

    Have I mentioned I now have a Post Office Box?


    .




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